


Black magic

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Pining, Romance, Silly, and also some discussion of consent issues, but I ended up writing quite a bit of angst, love potion, or at least it was supposed to be like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: It all begins with Molly telling John a story about how one of her friends finally got married to the man of her dreams- thanks to a magical love potion.Of course that's all it is: a story.It's not like such thing exists, afterall.And if it did exist... it's not like John would like to try it on someone. Of course not. That would be silly.Right?





	1. Love potion

**Author's Note:**

> So… I started writing fics in the Sherlock fandom in 2015. It’s been a year since I finished my first work, (“Long term complications of arranged marriages”), which I’m frankly ridiculously proud of (even if it’s not my work with the most kudos, it’s still the most read.)  
> But that wasn’t meant to be my first work for the fandom. I started working on this silly story far sooner, but I just never got around posting it. Also, I never got around finishing it, so that’s probably the main reason for not posting :P  
> Regardless, this has been sitting on my WIP’s folder since forever and since I do somewhat like what I had already written, I thought I would share it with you guys. Maybe I'll finish it, maybe I won't, maybe someone wants to adopt the idea or help writing it? I honestly don't know. I just wanted to share it ;)  
> That being said... enjoy?

When he looks back to how “everything” began, John will find ironic that it was Molly Hooper the one who put the idea in his head. 

It’s a regular day at the morgue, with Sherlock examining a corpse, not paying attention to his companion. Used as he is to be ignored in the favour of a cadaver, John doesn’t even try to talk and instead chooses to sit with Molly and make small talk with her.

Their conversation had been pretty superficial, until John had asked for Molly’s plans for the weekend. She had mentioned then she was going to a friend’s wedding, which had lead to a heartfelt confession of her fear of always being the bridesmaid, never the bride, which had ended with John assuring her she’d find someone. Eventually.

They both had looked at Sherlock after that. A few seconds later, Molly had started laughing and then had told him what would John later refer as the “Story” (capitalized; it certainly deserved it).

A few days later, after catching a murderer and joining Greg for a celebratory drink (while Sherlock choose to go home, of course), he found himself retelling the Story, after they had had far too many drinks and both had complained about their love lives (or lack of them).

Which is how they ended up outside a small store, located in some posh neighborhood, with a big sign hanging over the door, proclaiming “Magic and Divination Services”. They had to be really drunk to end up there.

And this is where our story really begins.

* * *

 

For some reason, John always pictured places like this to be dark and smelling of incense. In truth, the shop resembles a common appliance store, with perfectly well organized shelves and it smells vaguely of cleaning products. The woman behind the counter is perfectly ordinary too: she’s slightly taller than John, with big eyes and a friendly smile.

“How can I help you on this fine evening, gentlemen?” she asks politely, apparently unmoved by the fact that both of her ‘potential customers’ are most definitely drunk.

John hesitates then, because back at the pub it sounded like a lovely, perfectly sound idea. Now however, he’s starting to think the whole ordeal is just downright ridiculous.

There’s no such thing as magic, after all.

“A magic potion!” Lestrade exclaims, entirely too enthusiastically, which just serves to show how drunk he is. His sober self would be horrified. “A love potion.” He adds, turning to John for confirmation and the doctor just nods, even if he feels terribly silly right now.

“Ah” she nods seriously, a small indulgent smile on her lips. “This way, please.”

She takes them back store, where a small kettle and a couple of cups await. John and Greg take a seat, now both feeling slightly more sobered up. There’s something about going looking for magical help for your problems that just seems to sober you up.

“So, I take someone referred you?” the woman asks, pouring a cup for each. “Molly Hooper, I presume?”

“How did you-?” John questions right away. Used as he is to Sherlock’s deductions, it’s a little strange when someone else does it.

The woman smiles, pointing at a tablet resting on one of the tables. “I follow your blog.” She shrugs. “I’m a fan of detective stories.”

He supposes it could explain things somewhat. Not entirely but- “Ms. Hooper sought my help concerning her… infatuation with Mr. Holmes. I couldn’t help her.” She shrugs, sitting in front of them, still smiling. “My potion only works if the love is true.”

John thinks back to the way Molly behaves around Sherlock and wonders what exactly a love being “true” entails. “It wasn’t meant to be,” the woman explains, probably sensing his line of thought. Molly did mention she was good at making observations. “I assume she explained to you how this works?” she carries on, producing a small vial out of the pockets of her coat.

“Not really,” The DI is the one who answers this time. “She just mentioned it helped her friend to find the love of her life?”

“No; not find.” Her smile turns enigmatic. “Just made him notice her.”

She leans back on her seat, playing with the small vial. John and Greg exchange a look, but neither says anything else. “I can’t help you find love, Mr. Lestrade. That you’ll have to do on your own.” She looks thoughtful for a few seconds, before carrying on. “You need to have someone in mind.”

John’s mind jumps to Sherlock so quickly that it leaves the doctor feeling a little dizzy (or maybe that’s just the alcohol). He tries to keep his expression neutral, though. Supposedly, they’re here on Greg’s behalf, so he’d better not let his imagination run wild.

The woman’s attention is turned fully on him and the smirk spread across her lips is a little unnerving. “Unrequited love. Awful, isn’t it?” She stands up, circling around them. “That ache deep within your bones; loving someone so much that you can hardly breath, knowing you would do anything for them… And yet, knowing they’re never EVER going to love you back.” She makes a melodramatic pause. “It’s a pain that never fades. You might ignore it, you might learn to pretend that you’re over it, but it never really goes away.”

She’s standing in front of John now and the doctor swallows nervously. The woman smirks once more. “That’s what my potion does, gentlemen. Removes the ‘unrequited’ bit.”

“But only if the love is true” Lestrade says and John is thankful for the distraction, because he can feel his throat closing under the sudden hurt of being reminded just how awful loving someone who can’t love him back is.

“Yes.” She replies evenly, smiling. 

“So if the potion doesn’t work it’s because the love wasn’t true?”

“No, Mr. Lestrade. If the love isn’t true, the potion is never administered.” Her tone turns a little cold then. “Many have accused me of being a fraud, but I assure you, I’m not. Which is why the first drop is always on the house.” She smiles warmly once more. “When it works, people always come back for the second one.”

“Why a second one?” John finds himself asking and she turns to smile indulgently at him.

“Because, Dr. Watson, the first drop will make your beloved notice what has always been in front of their noses. The second one will… close the deal.”

That sounds a bit ominous, but John doesn’t comment. Instead he stands up, deciding this is obviously a dead end. “Well that was educating. Thank you for your time, mam.”

Greg stands up too. The woman takes John’s hand then, pressing the small vial in it. “As I said, the first drop is always on the house.”

John stares at the vial. He can feel Lestrade staring at him too, but that doesn’t matter. What matters- “There’s no one-”

“Please,” the woman interrupts him gently. “There’s no need to lie.” She cups his face between her hands, looking directly into his eyes. “Your love is true, Dr. Watson. All you need is a tiny bit of help.”

John swallows nervously. This isn’t about Sherlock; it can’t possibly be about Sherlock. Sherlock would never- He just- They’re not-

“Shh, shh” the woman tells him, rubbing circles with her thumbs over his cheeks. “Just a drop will do.” She lets him go then and takes a step back, leaving John feeling like he has just been pushed down the stairs. “I’ll see you in a month. Maybe two.”

“Why?” he asks, breathless.

“You’re not like my regular clients, Dr. Watson.” She replies calmly. “You’re not going to rush home and give your beloved the potion. In fact, you’re going to pretend this never happened at all.” Her smile becomes predatory and John takes a step back unconsciously. “But one day, when you feel you’re drowning in your own longing… that day you’ll give in. And when it works, you’ll come back.”

The three of them stand in tense silence. Finally, the woman waves a hand dismissively at them. “Have a nice evening, gentlemen.”

In retrospective, it’s a little funny how quickly they leave.

* * *

 

A month passes and John tries very hard not to think of that night at all. It’s ridiculous, really. There’s no such thing as magic and even if it was real… no love potion would be strong enough to make Sherlock love him back.

To be fair, the consulting detective does love him. Just not- not in the way John would like him to. He cares, obviously, but he’s not in love with him. But that’s fine, really. He’s fine with it.

And if he finds himself eying the potion’s vial wistfully… well, that’s nobody's business but his.

But as the woman (witch?) predicted, the day comes when his longing threatens to drown him and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s making tea and slipping a drop of magic potion in Sherlock’s cup.

And that’s when things begin to change.

* * *

 

In retrospective, John’s not sure what about Sherlock’s comments made him snap. He has gotten used to the consulting detective slightly (alright, completely) condescending tone and he knows that more often than not, the other man insults him offhandedly, but he doesn’t mean it that way. He’s not trying to be mean, he’s just- he’s just-

Well, he’s just being himself.

So the hurt he’s feeling doesn’t make much sense. He knows about the dark moods Sherlock works himself into and he should be used to them, but today he had a bad day himself and so his friend’s words hurt a little too much and he finds himself making tea, trying to calm down a little and not succeeding.

His movements are short and brusque, his frustration showing. Sherlock either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care and that just frustrates John further. He pours a cup of tea for himself and then debates with himself whether or not to hand one to Sherlock. The infuriating man probably hasn’t eaten in all day and John has taken upon himself to look after his flatmate, but-

As he stares at the other empty cup, he feels like screaming. He had always thought he would be able to handle his ridiculous infatuation with Sherlock, that it’ll eventually either pass or he’ll learn to live with it, without feeling like he’s dying inside. However it seems that that’s never going to happen.

With a sigh he pours another cup, but before he hands it to Sherlock, he remembers the little vial that he has taken to carry with him at all times. He doesn’t know why he does it, since he knows the potion can’t be real but-

He hesitates for a second, before taking the vial out and examining it in the darkness of the kitchen. Later, he’ll blame it on his frustration and tiredness, but the real reason why he pours the vial into Sherlock’s cup if far simpler: for a second he allows himself to think it might work.

He hands the cup to his friend and heads into his bedroom upstairs. Now that he has poured the potion he feels ridiculous for even thinking it might work, so he sees little point in staying and watching how nothing changes when Sherlock drinks the tea.

He lies in bed for a long while, staring at nothing and berating himself for his naivete, before he finally succumbs to sleep.

A love potion. What a ridiculous notion.

Right?

* * *

 

When John goes into the kitchen the next morning, he wonders if he has walked into an alternate reality. There’s freshly made tea and some scones on the table and John eyes them suspiciously. Usually the only thing that Sherlock leaves at the kitchen table is one of his experiments and these certainly don’t look like one.

“Sherlock?” he questions, picking up an scone and sniffing it. It might be poisoned, but it certainly smells delicious.

Sherlock grunts in response, apparently lost in something he’s reading at the computer. 

“Are these safe for human consumption?” he asks, itching to take a bite from the small pastry. Suddenly and without a warming, Sherlock is standing in front of him and John almost jumps in surprise.

The stand in silence for a while, John still holding the scone and Sherlock observing him intently. “Sherlock?” the doctor questions after a few tense seconds and the consulting detective seems to come back to himself.

“Yes, perfectly safe,” he tells him with a shrug. “I- I wanted to apologise about last night.”

John is certain his jaw has just dropped, but he can’t be bother to try to smooth his expression into something other than surprise. This is feeling more and more like some alternate reality and he doesn’t know what to think.

“Thank you?” he says, uncertain and Sherlock keeps on observing him closely, before giving a stiff nod and turning around dramatically, heading back into the living room, leaving a very confused John behind.

What has just happened here?


	2. Bizarre behaviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock continues acting oddly and John wonders if there's such thing as magic after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I knew posting would get my creative juices flowing… or at least I hoped so ;) It seems to be working, so…  
> Enjoy?

“He bought milk.”

John groans, resting his head against the table. Greg takes a sip of his beer, mulling over John’s revelations, an amused look on his face and John groans once more. He wasn’t expecting the other man to see the significance of the gesture, but he doesn’t appreciate being mocked anyway.

“He never- I didn’t think he even knew where to buy it! Sherlock always- he never- I just-”

Greg chuckles as John’s speech dissolves into another groan. The doctor runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up, feeling more than a tad frustrated. God, this is a nightmare. He shouldn’t have listened to Molly, he shouldn’t have-

“So let’s recapitulate,” Greg says good naturedly, ignoring the annoyed glare the other man sends in his direction. “You gave Sherlock the potion and the next day he brought you scones. Later that day he asked if you’d like to go out for dinner (without you having said you were hungry), spends the following day trailing after you (even when you were at work) and today he bought the milk. Am I missing something?”

“I know it sounds crazy-”

“It is crazy, John,” the DI agrees, a soft smile on his lips. “I mean- there’s no such thing as magic. That night- well, we both were more than a little drunk-”

“I know, I know!” John exclaims, grabbing his own drink and finishing it in just one go. “But just- it makes no sense whatsoever! Sherlock isn’t- you’ve got to admit he’s acting a bit weird.”

Greg shrugs non committedly. “Perhaps, but Sherlock is a weird fellow even in his best days.” John glares and Greg has the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “John, listen to yourself. Do you honestly think that Sherlock has magically fallen in love with you? Thanks to a love potion?”

John sighs, dejected. “I honestly don’t know what I’m thinking,” he murmurs, ordering another drink. He figures a few drinks won’t help to bring any clarity to his situation, but they probably won’t hurt either.

Although, isn’t that how this whole mess started?

* * *

 

The light is pouring through the half closed blinds and John groans, hiding his face in his pillow. His head is pounding and he’s seriously regretting having drink as much as he did the night before. It’s all Greg’s fault, really, for being such a lousy friend. Also Sherlock’s for being... himself, he supposes.

Busy as he is drowning in self pity and regretting his life decisions, it takes him ridiculously long to notice he’s not alone in the bed. His heart skips a beat as he notices the warmth radiating from the person wrapped around him like a bloody octopus and judging by the length on the limbs surrounding him-

Oh, dear God. This is a little over the top, isn’t it?

It’s nice though and he soon finds that the more he concentrates on the warm feeling quickly spreading inside him, the less he feels his aching head. Still, this is a too bizarre situation for him to relax completely: Sherlock has never been particularly… touchy and this display is way out of character. Whatever has happened to him?

His mind goes back to the bloody potion and the woman’s (witch’s?) words. There no such thing as magic; that’s just old wives tales. You can’t bottle up love, you just can’t. And if you could- it just-

God. Is he- is he coercing Sherlock into… whatever this is? Oh, this is bad, very bad.

And yet-

“Stop it,” Sherlock murmurs from behind him, his voice raspy and his breath warm against the back of his neck. “I can hear you thinking. It’s far too early for that.”

“What are you doing?” John questions, aiming to sound casual, but he’s not quite sure he succeeds. Sherlock huffs, somehow pulling him closer and John has to hold back a yelp, feeling terribly self conscious.

“Sleeping,” Sherlock replies evenly, burying his face in John’s hair. “You said last night I should.”

That- that sounds like something John would say, although for the life of him he can’t remember it. “God, how drunk was I?” he asks out loud, not really expecting an answer. But of course Sherlock replies anyway.

“Very,” he says, tightening his grip around John’s waist. “Can we go back to sleep now?”

A part of him (the rational, not infatuated part of him) reasons that this is a bad idea. The other part of him (the hopeless romantic part) suggests they ought to enjoy this (whatever  _ this  _ is) for as long as it lasts.

Potion or not potion, it’s not bound to last anyway. “I suppose,” John agrees hesitantly and Sherlock lets out a contented sigh. John could swear a kiss gets deposited on the top of his head, but that might be his overactive imagination.

The world has stopped making sense, though, so he supposes a little kiss might not be that far from the realm of possibilities.

Now that he thinks about it, the possibilities are endless, aren’t they?

* * *

 

Molly is staring at him curiously, head tilted a little to the side, seemingly lost in thought. Every now and then she’ll turn to look in Sherlock’s direction and stare at him for a little while before turning her attention back to him. John tries to act as if nothing was amiss, but he’s not completely sure he’s succeeding.

Sherlock looks up from the body he’s examining and offers John a small, gentle smile before asking for his opinion. Glad to have something else to concentrate on, John begins examining the cadaver.

It seems a very obvious case of an accidental drowning, but Greg insists there’s something wrong, although he’s not sure what and that’s why he called Sherlock. John’s observations however, seem to confirm the accident theory and once he’s done, he turns to Sherlock, expecting him to tell him just how many things he missed.

Instead, Sherlock beams brightly at him. “Brilliant, John, absolutely brilliant!” he exclaims joyfully, grabbing him by the arm and proceeding to drag him out of the room. “Come on, we have a murder weapon to find!”

John’s used to feeling confused at the leaps Sherlock’s mind does, but he’s not remotely used to the look of absolute adoration on his friend’s face. Molly has narrowed her eyes at him, seemingly having come to a conclusion and even Greg is looking wrong footed.

None of that matters though, because Sherlock has already pulled him out of the morgue and is dragging him outside, babbling one thing or another about the case.

John forces himself to pay attention. If things go messy, he’ll never forgive himself if something happens to Sherlock because he was distracted by something as silly as a bit of praise.

Never mind how bizarre that might be.

* * *

 

“You gave him the potion, didn’t you?” Molly demands, cornering him as soon as he walks into the lab. Sherlock is busy explaining his theory to Greg about the murderer and he had actually been attempting to escape Molly’s notice.

No such luck, apparently.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about?” he’s aware he sounds far from convincing and he gets a roll of eyes for his troubles. “Alright, alright. Yes, I did. But I didn’t- I didn’t think it would work!”

Molly looks thrilled, although there’s certain sadness in her eyes. “Oh, John, weren’t you listening to my story?”

“Of course I was!” he exclaims, noticing he sounds a tad hysterical. “But you- I mean- you’ve got to admit it sounds crazy! There’s no such thing as magic, after all!”

“Then why did you give it to him?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? He bites his lip, looking away. “I suppose- because a part of me kept hoping it'd work.”

Molly’s gaze is full of sadness now, as she rubs his arm gently, trying to look sympathetic. She offers him a smile and John sighs, feeling tired and dejected. “What am I going to do, Molly?” he asks softly. “I can’t- I don’t think- I don’t think this is right.”

Molly hums, thoughtful. “You did hear that the potion would only work if the  _ love was true _ , didn’t you?” she asks after a while. “John, that means-”

“I know, I know. I just- it makes no sense whatsoever-”

The door opens abruptly, startling them both. Sherlock stands by the door, brow furrowed, eyes sweeping over John and Molly and that’s when the doctor notices they might have been standing a little too close. Not that it would have mattered under any other circumstances, but now-

Now Sherlock comes closer, not saying a word whatsoever and simply wrapping an arm around John’s waist. The doctor blushes furiously and Molly’s eyes are alight with mischief as Sherlock glares darkly at her. “We were just talking,” she says, batting her eyelashes innocently and John rolls his eyes as the woman breaks down into giggles. Sherlock remains perfectly unamused, tightening his grip the slightest bit.

God, it’s so nice. So, so nice…

“Lestrade can handle the rest alone,” the consulting detective says, still glaring a Molly, apparently having a completely silent conversation with her, although she still looks thoroughly amused. “Let’s go, John.”

John nods, offering Molly one last smile before he gets dragged out of the lab. Sherlock lets go of his waist then, but John has no time to mourn the loss before his friend entwine their fingers together and so they make their way out of the morgue holding hands.

He allows himself to enjoy the contact, for surprising and unnerving as it might be… it’s certainly enjoyable.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a little shorter than the previous one, but well… the first one was actually meant to be two but since I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue it or not, I decided to keep it as one ;)  
> I’ve just realized I haven’t given you a timeframe for this. I tend to ignore S3 happened at all and while TRF might be my favorite episode (very closely followed by ASiB), I’ve found that not including it in a happy fic is always advisable :P  
> So… yeah, this is situated at some point between S1 and S2. Make of that what you will ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought?


	3. Unforeseen consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John is determined to tell Sherlock the truth... but that's easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new chapter! I’ve just realized I haven’t told you guys where the inspiration for this little crazy idea came :P Not that it’s terribly important, but in case you’re curious… the title and inspiration comes from L[ittle Mix’s song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MkElfR_NPBI). Go listen to it and you’ll see what I mean ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Now… enjoy?

After long deliberation, John has come to a decision.

He isn’t exactly sure it’s the best way to go about this, but he hasn’t come up with any other solution. He suspects telling Sherlock he has been given a love potion will make the consulting detective think John is the one who’s been drugged, but  _ he has to.  _ It’s the only fair thing to do.

They can’t keep going on like this. All this hand holding and beaming smiles and praises and just general niceness… it’s not real. And as much as John is enjoying their little interactions, he knows it’s not going to last because Sherlock doesn’t really feel that way.

Then again-

But no. He’s not going back to the store to get that second dose of magic potion, because he’s not going to… force Sherlock into a relationship he doesn’t want. If something is going to happen between them, it’ll be out of his own free will or not at all.

Although he’s not exactly sure what he’ll accomplish by confessing his foolish act. Sherlock will be even more sceptical of  _ magic,  _ but maybe he’ll stop to consider why he’s suddenly being so affectionate to John. And once he realizes something isn’t quite normal, maybe he’ll stop behaving that way.

Or maybe he’ll decide he doesn’t care.

But that’s just wishful thinking, of course. Sherlock despises being manipulated or controlled in any way and he won’t take it kindly that John attempted to, even if neither of them would have thought it’d really work. John should have gotten rid of the damn potion right away, not fed it to Sherlock.

He sighs, bracing himself for what’s probably going to be an awkward conversation.

But it needs to be done.

* * *

 

In the end, he doesn’t get the chance to explain because as soon as he walks into the living room, Sherlock announces they have a case and proceeds to drag him down the stairs. Figuring now won’t be the ideal moment to have such a delicate conversation, John decides it’ll have to wait for later.

Unfortunately (or maybe not), that later never quite comes because while chasing their killer down the street, John ends up getting his head bashed against a wall and Sherlock proceeds to subdue the attacker with a little more violence than necessary, before turning his whole focus on John. Even though the doctor keeps assuring him he’s perfectly fine, Sherlock looks far from convinced and while he agrees to head back home instead of going to the hospital, he keeps on fussing over John almost obsessively.

John isn’t quite sure how he feels about this side of Sherlock. His friend has always worried when he gets injured during cases, but this- this feels excessive. The other keeps looking at him as if he’s expecting him to disappear; as if can’t quite believe John is, in fact, perfectly fine (if a bit dizzy)

Sherlock continues fussing over him once they’re in their flat and John finally snaps. It’s nice to know Sherlock cares, but this- “I’m fine, really!” he exclaims, frustrated, pushing Sherlock’s hands away. The consulting detective ignores him, attempting to examine his wound once more and John holds him by the wrists, forcing him to make eye contact. “Sherlock, listen to me. I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Sherlock huffs, glaring, but there’s something- heartbreaking about the look in his eyes. “John, you don’t understand- when you- when he- there was so much blood-”

There was, indeed, quite a lot of blood. But then, head wounds are always flashy and John was really fine. It had hurt, of course, and it had made the world go black for a few seconds, but it was hardly worrisome. The paramedics who had insisted on checking on him had simply cleaned his wound and bandaged him, for there was truly nothing that suggested that it was a serious injury.

Sherlock, however, wouldn’t listen to reason.

“Sherlock-”

“I can not lose you!” Sherlock exclaims suddenly, startling John by the vehemence of his tone. “I can’t- I don’t know- if something happened to you-” his voice breaks and John has never seen his friend so distressed. He forces himself to take a deep breath, ignoring the way his heart is beating madly inside his chest and gathers the other man in his arms, pulling him into a tight hug.

“It’s fine,” he murmurs gently, rubbing his hand over his friend’s back. “I’m fine, I promise.”

Sherlock nods, hugging him tight and something inside John breaks as he relaxes into the embrace. It’s terribly nice and Sherlock is so warm-

God, this is quickly spiraling out of control.

What is he going to do?

* * *

 

Days pass normally (or as normally as they do in their household) and John watches all the small changes in Sherlock’s behaviour, wondering what should he do. His friend becomes even more affectionate with each passing day and soon they’re cuddling on the couch while watching a show and holding hands while eating (that actually makes the whole eating much more complicated, but John finds himself reluctant to let go.)

They haven’t kissed, though. And- well, there’s no denying that John would very much like for them to kiss, but while things continue like this, he can keep postponing actually telling Sherlock what he did.

There’s, of course, the off chance this had nothing to do with the potion and it’s just the natural development of their friendship. As soon as the thought crosses his mind however, John dismisses it. No, there’s no such thing as coincidence and to think-

But then again,  _ magic does not exist.  _ The whole love potion is a ridiculous idea; the fact that he got it in the first place is the result of too many drinks. He never actually expected it to work, it  _ wasn’t supposed to! _ And now- now-

Oh, this is just too complicated.

So he just keeps on waiting. For what exactly he isn’t sure, but for something.

A sign of some kind.

Magic does not exist but the potion does work.

What does that mean?

* * *

 

It’s funny how little time it takes to get used to nice things.

John sighs, as he watches Sherlock from the corner of his eye. His friend is entertained with some experiment of his and so he’s pretty much ignoring him. Not that unusual, on their pre-potion days (and isn’t that a weird thought?) but now-

John feels Sherlock’s disinterest like a physical pain. He knows it’s silly and that he shouldn’t have gotten used to the attention to begin with, but he can’t help himself. When you want something for far too long and you finally get it-

Well. Who could blame him?

He considers his friend’s behaviour on the last few days as he chews on his lip, thinking. They haven’t cuddle in a while and the hand holding has practically stopped altogether. There are no more dashing smiles, not any sweet words coming his way and in fact-

In fact, Sherlock is behaving pretty much like his old self.

John sits up straighter, trying to make sense of his messy thoughts. It’s been over 3 months since he gave Sherlock the potion for the first time and while he has spent much of his time  _ worrying  _ over it and thinking about the implications-

He hadn’t actually considered the woman’s (witch?) words _. The first drop will make your beloved notice what has always been in front of their noses. The second one will… close the deal. _

He hadn’t thought of what would happen if the second dose was never administered. He hadn’t asked, because he hadn’t thought it could actually work and now- now-

Is this it, then? Is the potion losing its strength?

He tells himself he should be glad for it. Now he won’t have to worry about having forced Sherlock to anything and all his troubles will be over.

But- 

_ Unrequited love. Awful, isn’t it? _

No, no, he can’t do this to Sherlock. He’s his friend and he- if he doesn’t want-

_ Loving someone so much that you can hardly breath, knowing you would do anything for them… And yet, knowing they’re never, EVER going to love you back. _

But it’s  _ wrong.  _ Sherlock doesn’t love him like  _ that  _ and John shouldn’t be even considering-

He growls, standing up, feeling frustrated with himself. There’s a battle going inside him and he can’t think. He knows that the logical, fair thing would be to simply forget all about this nonsense, but-

His eyes meet his friend’s on the other side of the room; Sherlock frowning a bit, looking curious about John sudden change of mood and John’s heart clenches painfully inside his chest. God, he wants- oh, how he wants-

_ It’s a pain that never fades. You might ignore it, you might learn to pretend that you’re over it, but it never really goes away. _

“I’m going out,” he announces, grabbing his jacket, thinking a bit of fresh air will do him a world of good.

And if he happens to walk by a certain magic shop- “Don’t wait up,” he throws over his shoulder, rushing downstairs, his heart beating manically, his chest aching oddly.

He knows it’s not right.

But is it wrong?

* * *

 

“True love is very rare. Whoever manages to find it… they’ve found the most precious of treasures.”

John sighs, eying the small vial sitting on the table. He had spent most of the afternoon walking around London, trying to clear his head, to convince himself of doing the right, respectable thing.

But here he is.

“There’s nothing you should feel guilty about, Dr. Watson,” the woman (witch?) tells him, leaning back on her seat, a satisfied smile on her lips, like she knows he’s going to take the vial with him, even if he doesn’t know it yet. “As I said, the potion wouldn’t have worked if the love wasn’t true and since you’re meant for each other… what’s the harm on searching for a little extra help?”

John doesn’t like the speech. It sounds wrong, it sounds- unfair. Love can’t be forced, it either happens or it doesn’t. Just because he feels a certain way, it’s not fair to expect Sherlock to return the sentiment.

“Don’t you want him to love you? Forever?”

Yes. Oh god, yes, he wants it more than anything. But the price- can he live with himself knowing he didn’t won Sherlock’s love fairly? That he- manipulated him, in a way?

“You can of course simply let the effects wear off,” the woman tells him placidly, smirking lightly. “But do you really want that? After having a taste of how it could be like- can you go back to the way it was?”

John closes his eyes, his heart beating a little too loudly.

When he opens his eyes again, he has made a decision.

He’s not sure it’s the right one, but it’s the only one he can make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah… this is very short.
> 
>  
> 
> In retrospective, I should have used a bit of this one in the previous one and use the last part for the next one, but well… it works anyway, I think :P
> 
>  
> 
> You know, this was supposed to be lighthearted and silly and somehow I turned it into an angst fest with a surprising bunch of introspective thoughts on consent. But then, I suppose it does make sense, even if it wasn’t my intention, because we’re talking about a   
>  _  
>  magic love potion.   
>  _  
>  That has “consent issues” written all over.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, angst comes easier to me.  
> But it’ll end well, I promise! I’m a romantic at heart and I do believe in true love and soulmates, even if I tend to be a bit cynical about it IRL ;) Anyway, let me know what you thought? And thanks for reading!  
> On a slightly unrelated subject, I wanted to let you guys know I’m participating on the auction on tumblr organized by [FandomTrumpsHate](http://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/); all the donations go to charities, so it’s all for a good cause! You can find more info on the link above, as for my own auction I still don’t have a link, but you should be able to find it [here](https://fandomtrumpshateofferings.tumblr.com/archive)  
> once it has been updated. So if you guys would like to bid for a commissioned work of mine… well ;)  
> 


	4. Of happily ever afters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things come to an end...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s a new (and the last!) chapter! It’s a bit on the short side but well… enjoy?

John returns to Baker Street late at night, the small potion vial resting inside of his pocket. It feels impossibly heavy, but maybe that’s just his guilty conscience: there’s a part of him that is still trying to convince him against taking such a foolish step, but for the most part-

As the _ witch _ said, the potion wouldn’t have worked if the love wasn’t true and if that’s the case- well, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of extra help.

He realizes it’s a bit of a flimsy excuse, but he notices he doesn’t particularly care. If someone wants something badly enough, shouldn’t they be willing to go to any lengths to obtain it?

Yes, but it this case-

No! Better not to think of the implications. Tonight he’ll give Sherlock the potion and by this time tomorrow none of this will matter. Tomorrow they’ll be happy together; exactly as they were always supposed to be.

Everything will be fine.

True love is hard to find and there’s no reason to give it up once you do.

* * *

 

Sherlock is sitting on his chair, staring at nothing in particular. He doesn’t look up when John walks in; in fact he gives no sign he has noticed his arrival at all. The doctor smiles though, because soon that won’t be a problem anymore. Soon he’ll be the sole focus of Sherlock’s attention.

“Want some tea?” he asks out loud, heading towards the kitchen, not really expecting an answer, humming happily to himself. He moves around the place with naturality, preparing two cups. Once he’s done, he reaches into his pocket to grab the vial and that’s when he hesitates once more.

The little vial looks so innocent in his palm that for a second he finds it hard to breath. Magic does not exist but if it does, he shouldn’t be using it to coerce anyone into a relationship. What’s more, he shouldn’t be doing it to his  _ best friend  _ who has claimed time and time again he’s not interested in any sort of romantic entanglements.

His hand shakes and he closes it around the vial. He finds himself looking over his shoulder, gazing at Sherlock who’s still sitting at the living room, looking lost in his thoughts, not suspecting John is about to-

God, how could he even think about it? What kind of monster is he?

He puts the vial back into his pocket and heads into the living room, placing Sherlock’s cup next to him. The consulting detective doesn’t even blink and John offers him a joyless but fond smile.

This is the man he’s in love with and he wouldn’t change a thing about him.

He sits on his usual chair and drinks his tea, eyes fixed on his friend who absentmindedly picks up his cup and takes a sip. He offers John a smile from over the rim of the cup and although John’s heart constricts, he smiles too.

Yes, true love is precious.

But it’s not love if it needs to be forced.

* * *

 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, although he can’t remember it. When he wakes up it must be nearly midnight and his neck hurts due the uncomfortable position he fell asleep into. He looks up to find Sherlock standing by the window, loosely holding his violin, gaze lost in something outside.

“Sherlock?” he questions softly, his voice a bit raspy. His friend turns to him then, smiling and John’s heart skips a beat. When the consulting detective closes the distance between them in a couple of strides, John finds himself pressed against the back of his chair, Sherlock’s breath right on his face.

“John,” his friend murmurs gently, his voice barely audible in the entirely too quiet apartment. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he adds and John suddenly finds himself with a lapful of consulting detective. He wonders distantly if this is all a dream and that honestly would make far much more sense, but-

“Sherlock?” he repeats just as softly, scared of breaking the spell if he raises his voice. 

“Hush,” the other says, before pressing his lips against his chastely. The kiss is just a gentle pressure of lips, but John feels like he’s burning in the inside. He wraps his arms around his friend’s thin waist, pulling him as closely as possible and deepening the kiss with a growl.

God, this must be Heaven. He must have died and gone to Heaven, his poor heart not able to cope with the stress of confessing to Sherlock the truth about the love potion-

The love potion!

John is on his feet right away, forgetting Sherlock was in his lap and so dropping the taller man unceremoniously on the floor. His heart is beating very fast and his face feels entirely too warm, but he forces himself to focus. “Why- why did you do that?” he asks, patting his jeans pocket and finding the potion gone to his great horror. Where did he leave it?!

“John?” Sherlock questions softly, his tone impossibly sad and the doctor turns immediately to him, worried.

“Sherlock, did you-? I had a vial in my pocket. Did you take it?” he demands, all business like, ignoring the way his friend keeps staring at him warily.

“What are you talking about?” the other asks and John groans, missing the way Sherlock curls into himself, carefully angling himself away from him. “John, what’s going on?” he demands a bit more loudly since the doctor is still ignoring him.

“No, no, this is wrong,” he argues with himself darkly. “Stupid, stupid! Shouldn’t have brought the damn potion here!”

“Potion? What potion?”

“The love potion!” John yells, effectively startling Sherlock enough to make him jump. “The second dose of the love potion that I- that I-” he collapses onto the floor, suddenly incapable of holding himself up, his breath coming in painful gasps. 

For a long while there’s no other sound but their combined breaths and then Sherlock breaks it with a loud  _ what? _

And so John finds himself retelling the Story, Sherlock looking more and more confused with every word that leaves his mouth. By the time he’s done, his friend is gaping at him as if he can’t quite comprehend everything he has said.

Another tense silence follows and then, “that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

John laughs, because how can he not? He knows it’s ridiculous, impossible even. And yet- “Remember the day you brought me scones to apologize? Why would you do that?”

“Because I realized I was being an arse, why-?”

“And then you- you brought milk!” he exclaims and he’s well aware he sounds crazy, but he doesn’t care. “And you kept on being all… affectionate and caring and  _ considerate.  _ Why, why would you do that?”

“Because I care about you,” Sherlock murmurs softly, looking away. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Sherlock, even if that’s true-”

“It was Mycroft’s idea!” the younger man exclaims, surprising John quite effectively. “I know it was stupid to ask for advice from  _ my brother,  _ but who I was supposed to turn to? I have no experience whatsoever with  _ things like this-” _

“Things like this?”

Sherlock stares at him for a beat, before standing as tall as he is, puffing out his chest, looking determined. “I think I might be in love with you, John. When you’re… gone or upset, I just- I can’t- I can’t concentrate in anything, I keep going back to-”

“Wait, what?”

Sherlock glares, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I’m not repeating that.”

“No, no, but-” John says, his brain having trouble trying to process this new information. “You- you really- are you sure you didn’t drink the potion?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sherlock yells, frustrated. “I’ve been feeling this way since- oh, I don’t know. I’d say that since I met you, but I worry that might be a bit over romantic of me-”

John blinks. Is this really happening? This isn’t some sort of- hallucination?

Well, if it is- he’ll take it while it lasts. 

He grabs the younger man by the lapels of his nightgown, silencing all of Sherlock’s protests by pressing his lips against his, perhaps a tad more forcefully than necessary, but incapable of holding himself back any longer.

For a long while, there’s no more talking in 221B Baker Street.

* * *

 

The bell over the door chims cheerfully as the newest customer enters. Ms. Collins frowns a bit, but doesn’t move from her place in the backstore, carefully measuring the ingredients for a new batch of love potion. The sales always increase at the beginning of the year; people always a little too desperate to begin the new year  _ not alone. _

She huffs, amused at the idea. She would make a fortune if she actually sell the thing to everyone who walks through the door, but magic is  _ unpredictable  _ and she knows better than to risk it.

Her newest customer seems to have no patience whatsoever, seeing he has invited himself into the backstore. She barely spares a glance upwards, a smile immediately curving her lips. “Mr. Holmes,” she greets pleasantly. “What a nice surprise.”

Mycroft Holmes doesn’t reply, simply taking a seat and observing her in silence. She makes a face, not completely comfortable with the scrutiny. Potion making is a delicate procedure and she really ought to be focusing on what she’s doing, but- “How can I help you?” she asks politely, eyes fixed on the potion.

The man doesn’t answer, instead depositing a small vial on top of the table. She rolls her eyes dramatically, before adding a few drops of honey. Now that she has to wait for the potion to simmer, she turns her full attention to her visitor, picking up the vial and looking at it closely. “Ah. Doctor Watson’s?” she asks, a bright smile on her lips.

“Indeed,” Mycroft replies, eyes narrowed. “My brother thinks it’s all nonsense, of course, but I-”

“This is his second dose,” she interrupts him calmly. “He didn’t give it to him.”

The man glares, displeased at being interrupted but she simply arches an eyebrow and he sighs. “Yes. Now-”

“They never do,” she adds gleefully, enjoying the man’s annoyance. “But then, it wouldn’t be true love if they did.” When Mycroft simply continues staring at her unamused, she huffs and continues explaining. “Love can’t be forced or it wouldn’t be love. Those who love truly know this and won’t put their own desires over the ones of those whom they love.”

“Lovely,” Mycroft hisses. “I still don’t appreciate-”

“Please, Mr. Holmes,” she interrupts him once more, making the man glare again. “Why are you really here?”

For the longest time, there’s nothing but silence. Then- “does it really work?”

She smiles mysteriously, handing him the vial. “Why don’t you give it a try?” she asks brightly and watches as the man hesitates, before putting it away. As she continues smiling, he huffs and stands up, hurrying outside without even saying goodbye.

The woman (witch?) laughs, shaking her head.

People always say they don’t believe in magic.

But she’s quite aware of how people think.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> I was thinking this would be at least another couple of chapters long, but well… it just seemed like the right way to go. I’m not sure if it feels rushed, though so…   
> Let me know what you thought?  
> As usual, it’s been a joy to work on this and get to share it with you guys.   
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So… thoughts anyone?  
> As I said, I really don't know whether or not I’ll be continuing it and if someone wants to adopt it, please be my guest! I'm just not sure where exactly go from here so…  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
